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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420895">A Password and A Promise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ej_writer/pseuds/ej_writer'>ej_writer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dissociation, Getting Together, Harringrove Week of Love 2021, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Snuggling for warmth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:33:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ej_writer/pseuds/ej_writer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy spends too long out in the cold. Steve’s house is warm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Harringrove Week of Love</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Password and A Promise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>♥️Happy Valentine's Day y’all!!!♥️<br/>It’s day five of HWOL, and today’s prompt was Snuggling for Warmth!! Read here or on my tumblr @thehairingrove !!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>First winter in the midwest, and Billy’s been out in the snow for hours on end.</p><p>He’d like to say that he has no idea why he’s doing this, but he does. Chief Hopper asked him to.</p><p>As if his record wasn’t already bad enough, with the fights and the vandalism and all the other bad things he’d done since his arrival in Hawkins, he just had to go and get himself a DUI charge.</p><p>He’d been speeding off to some middle schoolers house, schnockered after a party to pick his sister up when he got pulled over. He’d begged the chief to let him off easy, promised he’d never pick up another bottle if it meant that the DUI didn’t make it on file.</p><p>And the chief, he understood that. He’d been the one to ask Billy a few questions when he was admitted to the hospital in mid-November and a nurse, recognizing the signs of abuse, asked him to come check it out. Despite Billy’s best efforts, the Hopper’d wormed it out of him that his father had been the one to land him there.</p><p>So when he made his plea, it didn’t take much convincing to get him to help him out.</p><p>Still, he justifiably let Billy walk away unpunished for driving drunk, especially being that, with the new legislation Indiana was rolling out, he was now way under the age limit. To compromise, he opted to make him do community service instead.</p><p>Had Billy known how that would turn out for him, he might’ve rather just taken the beating for the DUI than doing three hours of shoveling sidewalks. A kick to the ribs or a punch to the jaw probably would’ve hurt less than the ache in his bones, feeling more and more like they were made out of heavy lead, or the sting of the cold air on his fingers and on his face.</p><p>For as many years as he had lived in California, he’d never seen snow stick to the ground for more than a few minutes, if at all, and he’d definitely never had to wear more than a jacket to protect himself from cold weather.</p><p>Now, having underestimated just how cold snow could actually get, he was freezing his ass off. He didn’t even have a stupid pair of gloves or anything, mouthing but a layer of thin denim to protect him from the record low temperatures.</p><p>Just because the universe hated him, the beating down snow wouldn’t slow down either. Not only were his clothes getting soaked completely through, his jacket a sopping mess and his boots more like rain barrels than shoes, but basically every time he cleared a sidewalk off, it'd be covered again before he reached the end.</p><p>Under all that snow, it was icy as all hell too, getting more so by the minute. Biker boots weren’t designed to walk on ice, and apparently nobody around these parts was decent enough to even sprinkle out a little ice melt before a storm, so more than a few times, he’d hit an icy patch and wipe the hell out. Thanks to a combination of the sun going down so early and the bitter freezing temperatures, there was nobody around to watch his feet go out from under him, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.</p><p>He was worn down to the bone by the time he finally reached Loch Nora, where he could catch a damn break. Everyone up in that little neighborhood was rich enough to pay their lawn boys to scrape and salt the sidewalks for them, and didn't need some scraggly teenager avoiding a criminal record to do it for them.</p><p>Without doing any work it got even colder, and he was pretty sure he was going to get hypothermia and keel over in some hoity-toity’s lawn. His hair was frozen, his lungs burned from the cold air leaving him unable to catch his breath, and his teeth were chattering. He thought that shit only happened in the cartoons.</p><p>Billy's starting to realize that when Hopper had told him five hours, he probably hadn’t meant all at once. But nobody told him that the weather could be like this, he thought he would just be able to get it all out of the way now, when he could be certain there even was snow to shovel and no Boy Scouts giving him a run for his money.</p><p>Too bad he’d probably freeze to death before he finished.</p><p>But before that can happen, he’s intercepted by the double doors at 8253 swinging open, nearly jumping out of his skin when the wind catches it and hits it off the side of the house.</p><p>Were it literally anybody else shouting to him from their stoop, he’d have just kept walking. But the boy who lived in the mansion at 8253 was none other than Steve Harrington, who called out to him over the wind, “Billy? What the shit are you doin’ out here, man?”</p><p>Steve Harrington, who had apologized first for Billy kicking his ass, and started hanging out with him before the scars even healed. He apparently had the superpower to make friends with absolutely anybody, even difficult bullies who made every effort to keep him from doing exactly that.</p><p>Don’t get him wrong, being buddy-buddy with Steve Harrington was definitely something he was interested in, but he wasn’t a fan of the way he pretended absolutely nothing was wrong after they fought. He’d concussed him, had to be drugged before he’d stop beating him, and Steve still was the first to reach out.</p><p>There had to be some sort of a catch to that kindness, and Billy just wasn’t looking to get too attached.</p><p>And yet, Billy stopped for him, when he called out, so maybe it wouldn’t have been entirely truthful to say that he was particularly bothered by Steve’s persistence. If you pressed him hard enough, he might even admit he thought it was kind of endearing.</p><p>“Just doing my civic duty, Harrington.” He could kick himself for how weak his voice sounds. </p><p>“It’s below zero, Billy. Why don’t you come in?” There’s something like concern in the way he says it, and it makes Billy want to walk away. </p><p>“I’ll pass.” </p><p>But Steve’s not having it, puts a hand on his hip. “I think the fuck you won’t. Get in here man.” </p><p>Billy might be stubborn, but Steve won’t take no for an answer. He knows when he’s lost, so he shoves the handle of the snow shovel towards Steve, who rolls his eyes and takes it, leaves it lean beside the door, and shoulders past Steve into his mansion, instantly feeling like he was melting in the dry warmth that radiated from the house.</p><p>Steve shuts the door behind them and hangs his scarf on a coat rack by the door. His boots and coat follow, and he makes Billy do the same. They both grimace at the puddle of water that spills out of Billy’s boot when it tips over.</p><p>“Jesus, how long were you out there?” </p><p>Billy shrugs, winces at the movement of sore shoulders, and lies. He wouldn’t want Steve to make a fuss if he knew. “Dunno. Lost track of the time.”</p><p>“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Steve plods up carpeted steps, leaving Billy to stand awkwardly on the door mat so he doesn’t drip all over the hardwood floors.</p><p>He takes the moment alone to take in his surroundings.</p><p>The Harringtons were more than well off, everybody knew that, but being inside of their house, their goddamned mansion, is nothing like Billy expected.</p><p>Just from where he’s standing at the door, he can see a living room furnished with big plush couches and a TV in an entertainment center the size of the whole wall. Across from it is the entrance to a dining room with more chairs than a family of three needed at a long table, chandelier overhead.</p><p>There were potted plants in every corner and paintings and family photos hung on every wall. Knick-knacks, probably all ordered from some magazine like his own step mom would day dream about shopping from, adorned every last unaided surface, from the huge console record player to every side table and wall shelf.</p><p>The longer he looked though, the more Billy noticed all the little things, like cobwebs in the high corners, and dust built up on the wax fruit, the 1979 time stamp on the most recent of their family photos. It wasn’t hard to piece together that this place was just a set.</p><p>Suddenly the obnoxiously high ceilings and the fancy decorations felt a lot less like grandeur, and a lot more suffocating. Billy felt bad knowing Steve was here all the time by himself, the sole pretender playing this part of the perfect family.</p><p>But then he’s brought out of his reflections by Steve hurrying back down the steps with a neatly folded stack of clothes in hand that he’s shoving towards him.</p><p>“The hell are these?”</p><p>“A change of clothes.” Billy just looks at him, scrunching his nose at the suggestion, and still won’t take them. “Dude you’re soaked to the bone, you’ll never get warm if you don’t get outta those clothes.”</p><p>Billy smirks, raises an eyebrow, but he takes the clothes. </p><p>Steve, realizing he could’ve worded that a little better blushes, just the faintest dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. “Shut up man. Bathroom’s down the hall to the right.”</p><p> </p><p>Even the Harrington’s bathroom is the pinnacle of wealthy interior design. Not only is the room as big as Billy’s entire living room, but it’s just as overly designed as the rest of the house.</p><p>The walls are black and gold, marbled in the most gaudy flaunting of money Billy’d ever seen. A huge clawfoot tub was settled in the counter, framed by beige tile counters. There was a mirror surrounded by lights right above the sink that spanned almost the entire wall. It felt like something straight out of a magazine. Hell, it probably was.</p><p>Even the bathroom in this place makes Billy feel out of place, the luxury of it all so much unlike what he was used to.</p><p>It’s warm in the bathroom, the shut door and the smaller space collecting keeping the heat in, and it makes his clothes start to feel gross on his skin, way too cold in contrast. He swallows his pride and looks at what Steve gave him to change into. <br/><br/>There’s two shirts, a henley and a drug rug, a pair of fleece pajama pants, and some fuzzy hospital socks with the grips on the bottom.</p><p>Before he puts his shirt on, he notices there’s bruises on his shoulders, on his back and his elbows, from the many times the ice had sent his feet out from under him, but honestly, it gives him this strange sense of pride, knowing he put them there himself.</p><p>He was more than used to marks on his skin, put there by an angry father and his rage, so it was a welcome change to know he’d just gotten these ones just from being clumsy. He almost didn’t want to cover them up, but another shiver ran up his spine, causing goose pimples to pop up all over his body, and he elected to slip the two shirts Steve had picked for him over his head, just to keep himself from freezing.</p><p>Wearing Steve’s clothes makes him look soft in every way that was not like him. Without his usual denim and leather,  he just looked like the boring version of himself. No longer the stereotypical image of high school bad boy he tries so hard for, he just plain old Billy. </p><p>He likes it. A lot. Stares at himself in that huge mirror for longer than is probably considered normal before deciding he should leave the bathroom. <br/><br/></p><p>Back in the living room, there’s a huge glass protected fireplace on the far wall, in front of which Steve’s on his knees currently trying, and failing, to start a fire up in. At home, all Billy had was a dinky plug in fireplace that stank like hot dust, but he knew how to start a fire regardless.</p><p>He’d been there when his father burnt all of his mother’s things she’d left behind.</p><p>“You need a starter.”</p><p>Steve jumps, apparently having not noticed Billy coming into the room. “What, like gas?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, <em>no</em>, not like gas. We're inside, doofus.” He has to laugh at Steve’s incompetence, but he offers his help. “You have any of those bricks?”</p><p>“These?” Steve opens a drawer beside the fireplace full of fire starters, and Billy realizes this is just another piece of the set. He’d be the first person to actually use this fireplace in years, if anyone even ever had before him. </p><p>“Yeah, those.” He confirms, but Steve just sits there, doesn’t know what to do with it. “Just put it under the wood and light it.”</p><p>“Huh.” Steve looks at the fire he made, seemingly a little surprised that it worked, brushes his hands on his pants and turns to Billy. He looks him up and down, taking in how he looked in the change of clothes and grins as he says, “You look cozy.”</p><p>Billy, trying to make up for the way his heart starts pounding from the observation, bites back, “And you look like a gracious host who’s going to make me a hot coffee.”</p><p>Steve looks like he thinks for a second before he asks, “Would you settle for hot cocoa?” </p><p>“I don’t care, long as it’s warm.”</p><p>Billy waits until Steve disappears around the corner into the kitchen before he sits down cross legged on the floor in front of the fire place. </p><p>The warmth of the fire radiates over him in a way that brings feeling back to his body, is almost soothing. </p><p>When he was little, he could remember having bonfires on cool summer nights out back of their first house in California. The lick of the flames against wood, the way the bright tendrils of fire would dance used to be so calming. He’d always fall asleep outside in a canvas lawn chair, and wake up the next morning tucked into his bed.</p><p>But the heat is too much, makes his skin itch, burning from the inside out in a way that wasn’t so pleasant. </p><p>He remembers his father, drunk off his ass, dragging him out to that same fire pit by his arm, leaving welts on soft skin, forcing him to watch as he burned every memory they had of his mother. Every picture, every possession, every shred of clothing, burnt to ash until there was nothing left but her voice on the other end of a telephone, and even that stopped after a little while.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t notice Steve come back from the kitchen, he’s too caught up in the flames, curling up around the wood and leaving burnt destruction in its wake.</p><p>Too entranced by the fire warming him up and freezing him over at the same time. The brightness of it leaves black and pink spots on his vision from how intensely he’d been staring.</p><p>“I didn’t have any marshmallows so I-” Steve stops talking when he sees Billy, sees that he’s crying, sitting stock still and just, staring into the fire place. “Oh.”</p><p>Billy startles from the sound of his voice, blinks too fast, trying to chase away the splotches of light burnt into his eyes. The action forces him to realize there are tears wetting cheeks, which he wipes at a little too aggressive with his sleeve, hoping Steve won’t say anything. </p><p>And he doesn’t, he just reaches down and hands him a mug, not letting go until Billy's got both hands on it and he’s sure he won’t drop it. Billy hadn’t noticed himself shaking until he saw the way the cocoa rippled in the red mug.</p><p>Steve clears his throat, trying to think of the right thing to say. “You still cold?”</p><p>“No shit. I was out there for three hours.” It’s harsh, overcompensating for sure. </p><p>Steve nods, but points out his inconsistency. “I thought you lost track of time?” </p><p>“My brain thawed out and I remembered.” He mumbles. It makes Steve laughs, and Billy’s heart feels like it could burst.</p><p>“Well, I have some extra blankets and stuff, if you’re still cold.” Steve offers, and Billy nods in response, as if to say that that sounded nice without out actually having to admit anything.</p><p>But Steve doesn’t make any moves to go get it, just stands there shuffling his feet and looking down into his cocoa. Billy can already tell he’s going to say something that he doesn’t want to hear. </p><p>Before Steve can embarrass him, Billy asks impatient, “You gonna go get it are you gonna let me freeze?”</p><p>“Right. Yeah.” Steve bends down and sets his mug down on the lip of the fireplace and pads off to some storage closet somewhere in the mansion. Billy rolls his eyes and promptly moves it to the coffee table to keep the ceramic from heating up and burning him when he picked it up next. <br/><br/></p><p>Initially, Billy thinks nothing of it when Steve comes back with only one blanket. It seems perfectly reasonable to him that Steve, who had been in this well heated house presumably all day, just isn’t cold.</p><p>But when he sits back down he’s close enough that their knees bump where they’re crossed, and he spreads just the one blanket out across the both of them.</p><p>Thank god for the fact that there was already a flush on his cheeks from the fire, because Billy definitely would’ve been blushing like a little schoolgirl at that.</p><p>They don’t talk about anything, because there’s nothing too talk about. It’s a comfortable silence that settles between them, broken up only by the crackling and popping of the fire.</p><p>But after a while with nothing to distract him, to keep him aware that this was Steve’s house, Steve’s Persian rug underneath him, Steve himself sitting next to him, Billy drifts back to smoke filled lungs straining with the effort of screaming for his mom, to the fist in his hair forcing him to watch. </p><p>Steve notices in an instant, those blue eyes going dull, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching, and the way his nails dig into his palms.</p><p>He sets his mug back down on the coffee table behind them, and gets up on his knees. He wraps the blanket they’d been sharing around Billy’s shoulders, and then his arms, linking his fingers together so he’s hugging Billy.</p><p>Except the slightest fluttering of his eyelashes, Billy shows no signs of a reaction. Steve takes that as his motivation to keep trying, and puts a hand on the back of his neck, says, “Hey, Billy.”</p><p>It makes his breath hitch, coming out in a cut off sigh. Billy asks, a little monotonous, “What’re you doin’?”</p><p>“Keeping you warm.” </p><p>Billy appreciates him not bringing up what’s obviously happening, but his head’s only partly coming back to him, and all he has the capacity to come up with as a response is, “Oh.” </p><p>Steve squeezes him a little tighter, his face pressing against his shoulder, to get him through the rest of it, to bring him back to earth. </p><p><br/>It’s a while before he gets anything else from Billy. Long enough that he has to move so he doesn’t kill his knees sitting up on them, and he ends up with them thrown over top of Billy’s, so they can be as close as possible. </p><p>Because Billy wasn’t exactly back there anymore, but he wasn’t quite here either. He could hear Steve, feel his arm around his shoulders, his knuckles rubbing absently up his arm, he just couldn’t reach him yet. </p><p><br/>When he gets back in his own head, he takes a moment to figure out where he is, and once he’s got it, he hooks his hands under Steve’s thighs, pulls him the rest of the way into his lap.</p><p>He doesn’t think about boundaries, about the fact that he should be more cautious, he just leans forward, presses their foreheads together and says, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.” <br/><br/>“Yeah. Anything for you.” Steve’s got a smile on his face, warm and genuine and blissful, and Billy can’t help the one that forms on his to match. </p><p> </p><p>That’s where they stay until morning comes around. Billy just didn’t have the energy to get up and go home so late, and Steve didn’t have the heart to make him. </p><p>He got the throw pillows down off the couch, and they went to sleep the way they were, wrapped up in each other by the fire, well after it burns out and the last of the wood is gone. </p><p><br/>Billy wakes up stiff from sleeping on the floor, but he couldn’t have been in any place more comfortable than Steve’s arms. </p><p>What Steve had done for him was practically unheard of. It was everything he was supposed to do, inviting someone in when they were cold, helping them out when they were feeling bad, but he’d never had that before. Not from anyone.</p><p>He’d hold the memory of Steve, holding him by the fire, equal parts concerned about getting him warm and getting him out of his head, in his heart forever. </p><p>That’s what he’s thinking about when he falls back asleep with a smile on his face, how this was just the start of making so many more memories to chase out the old.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Hawkins and it’s shitty winters wouldn’t be so bad, if he could spend them all like this.</p>
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